I Still Don't Understand
by Static Prose
Summary: Heero reflects on his love for Duo, and just how imperfect things can be in relationships


I still don't know why... 

A Gundam W sap/fluff/angst fic by Marin K.

Notes: Everyone always makes Duo out to be a God/Godess. He's always described as beautiful/sultry/angelic, even. With a heart-shaped face and those large round eyes, it's hard not to, but hey... he's just a guy. He has his flaws, as this fic shows. Heero POV.

I still don't know just how or why it happened. I don't know where the idea came from. The mere thought of myself, Heero Yuy, ever feeling any emotional ties to someone would be enough to make God himself reach down with one giant hand and slap me across the face. But, it happened. Just like a snap of the fingers. Like a glass being knocked over. So suddenly, there's nothing you can do to stop it. All you can do is let the glass fall over onto the floor and shatter. That's what I did. I fell over and shattered. And it was all over Duo Maxwell.

Yeah, that prissy-looking boy who does nothing but incessantly test my patience. He's just a punk kid with overgrown bangs that he refuses to get trimmed, and a long braid that does nothing but get in the way of things and attract gum. It's always getting stuck in his hair, he chews it so much. Even while he sleeps.

Yeah. I fell in love with a guy. Just saying that should be enough. I fell in love with another male, which is weird enough, but the fact that it was Duo couldn't be more of a shock to myself. A little twerp of a boy with an overly large mouth. Really, his mouth is huge. I've seen him eat two hotdogs at the same time. It was not a pretty picture. A dweeby, skinny little thing with bony shoulders. He's so skinny that his elbows could poke someone's eyes out. His knees actually look like kneepads when he wears shorts. His spine sticks out when he bends over. You can see every vertebrae. His shoulder blades are too pointy. He's just all around bony. Nothing but knees and elbows and long, skinny, pale legs. His legs are about five shades too pale for his body.

And he always insists on wearing sandals with socks. Don't get me wrong, I have no fashion sense, what with my spandex shorts that I used to wear constantly, but socks with sandals?! The whole point of wearing sandals is so that you can get _sand _in the shoes, and not worry about it getting in your socks. I hate it when sand is in my socks. It rubs in between my toes and drives me mad. He doesn't seem to mind. He wore them to the beach one time. When we got home, he dumped half of that beach onto the carpet floor of the living room. It took me almost a whole day to vacuum it up.

That's another thing! He never cleans up after himself. He left an old cup of tea in his room for so long that it began to spawn an entire colony of mold. It was disgusting. When I finally poured it out, the spores from the mold scattered and attached themselves to all of the furniture and, wouldn't you know it, lucky me, I'm allergic to mold. I was sneezing for a week.

He left a pizza box (with pizza still in it, I might add) on his floor for so long that when I opened it, three cockroaches came scurrying out and made a run for the border. Only one survived, but not unscathed. I put the cockroaches under the blankets of his messy, unmade bed to get him back for it. I've still yet to hear any accusations from him, so I'm guessing he's still got bed buddies he's been sleeping with. It's sickening. Nasty squished cockroach carcasses in the bed beside you every night. The thought makes me cringe.

His room is so messy that, litterally, not an inch of carpet shows on the floor. Clothes and hair products and dirty underwear hanging everywhere. He has one of those small, round fans because he can't sleep without a constant hum. It's so dirty that it's no longer white. It's black. Wouldn't you know it, though. Lucky me, I'm allergic to dust, as well. Needless to say, I dare not venture into his room anymore.

He'll come home from wherever he's been and take his shoes and socks off in the living room and _leave them there. _Even when he goes to put on his shoes the next day and the day after and the day after, the dirty socks remain stagnant on the floor. I've given up arguing with him about it. I clean them up myself and use plenty of Glade Plugins to keep the smell at bay while I'm away. His feet kinda smell, too. Not bad, really. They don't smell like big, fat, nasty old men feet. Not that I've ever smelt them, I'm using my imagination. But, they have a strange, permeating odor about them. Not quite offensive, yet not pleasant. I mean, it's a body smell. Body smells are never good, unless it's his hair.

He goes through an entire bottle of shampoo in six days. I've begun going to wholesale stores just to get the huge bargain gallon jugs of shampoo and conditioner. I still don't understand why he doesn't go through the conditioner as fast as the shampoo. It would boggle my mind if I were to allow it. He never cleans his long, stringy hairs out of the shower drain. We've had quite a few clogs due to his massive hair balls. That, and he takes nearly an hour and a half in the shower and uses all of the hot water. I haven't had even a lukewarm shower in weeks.

He forgets to brush his teeth at night sometimes. If he keeps it up, he'll get cavities. He uses the bathroom with the door open. Anyone walking by could see him! I don't know what he's thinking. I myself have walked in on him standing in front of the toilet urinating. He waved at me, smiled, threw off his aim, and peed on the seat. He never lifts the seat. And he didn't clean it up. I had to. I always clean up after him.

He never clears his plate from the table. It's probably because he's too tired to move half the time. He's fallen asleep sitting at the table more than once. I had to carry him to his bedroom, then come back downstairs and clean up his mess.

He chews with his mouth open and talks with his mouth full and has sent food particles plummeting in my direction many times. I've gotten so used to it; I merely flick it off my shirt or face or wherever it may have landed without a second thought.

When he yawns, his mouth becomes the largest I've ever seen, and his eyes squint up and his nostrils flare. He yawns very loudly. He laughs even louder. He laughs like there's no tomorrow; big, huge guffaws and hearty chuckles and bellows of full-blown laughter. It would almost be uplifting, in a way, were it not so annoying.

He scratches his groin in public. Now, I can understand that an occasional itch may occur, but an entire five minutes devoted to vanquishing the itch is a bit extravagant.

He always insists we do childish things. He wants to ride on the kiddy roller-coaster made into the shape of a giant worm. He wants to play that stupidly addictive video game that makes you dance to the music by stepping on squares and I have no sense of rhythm. He always beats me, then rubs it in, giving me a playful noogie. I hate those noogies. He grinds his bony fingers into your skull so quickly that you're almost certain your hair has burst into flames, but instead it's just an entire clump of knots and tangles that stay with you for the remainder of the day, no matter if you comb them out or not.

He always teases me for not talking much. I suppose that compared to him, I don't talk much, but nothing can really compare to him. He talks way _too_ much. But then, what would it be like if he were like me? We'd sit silently staring at each other all day. He can find any topic to make into a conversation piece. A blade of grass would be of interest to him. He'd admire just how green it is, how fresh and clean it looks, what it feels like under his bare feet.

His eyes get on my nerves sometimes. They're too big, and they're a strange color. He's the only person I've ever known who has had blue-violet eyes without using those stupid contact lenses. They're much too wide, too expressive. He says he never tells a lie, but that's only because he _can't_. You can just look into his eyes and see if he's telling the truth or not. You know immediately when you've hurt his feelings. His eyes loose their infamous sparkle. When he's happy, they seem to absolutely radiate warmth and openness. He's almost always happy.

He smiles way too much. If he doesn't stop with those stupid, crooked, wry grins, he'll get premature wrinkles.

He's always trying to make me happy, as long as it doesn't have anything to do with cleaning. Whenever he's around, he tries to get me to smile. He doesn't seem to realize that I am happy when I'm around him... usually. You don't have to smile to be happy. Some people smile less than others, but it doesn't mean they aren't happy.

He reads me far too well. He knows just which sighs and body movements and seemingly non-determinable grunts correspond to which emotions and feelings. If he were to ask me if I wanted to go jump off a building and kill myself (which I wouldn't do) or maybe go for a walk (which I may consider), I could answer in the exact same manner, yet he would be able to determine whether or not I was actually up for it. I still don't understand this.

I still don't understand how or why he gets underneath my skin like he does. He's the only person that I have been unable to knowingly lock out of my mind. I've even locked Relena out. She's one persistant little brat, but she still doesn't come close to understanding me the way Duo does. Relena would never be able to decipher my responses to questions asked. She'd give me one of her infamous 'innocent little puzzled dumb blonde girl' looks and giggle, immedaitely taking it for whatever she deemed satisfying to her own needs. Duo always seems to know just what I want when I want it. It can be almost disturbing sometimes.

So, with all of these flaws, it makes me wonder how I can feel the way I do about him. We're so opposite, it's ridiculous. It seems like everything he does gets on my nerves. I probably get on his nerves just as much. I like things neat and clean. I'm very picky about things being just the way I like them. Duo lets it all hang out. Doesn't care what he does, where he does it, or when he does it. Everything he does, every gesture, every smile, every motion, every facial expression, every _thing_ is so natural, yet so graceful. His very presence can literally brighten up a room and bring a smile to the coldest, darkest of hearts... even mine. Yet, I still don't understand. I don't understand how it can be that this attraction, this literal love even exists for him.

I don't understand how I am expected to function normally under these conditions...

Yet... sometimes... at night... when he's asleep. His hair falls just right over his face; his face, which is almost too plump for a boy of sixteen; and the light falls into the room and over his eyes closed lightly in his sleep. And I fall in love with him all over again.

Maybe this is why I love him. That look he can give me. His overly large eyes searching into mine almost nonchalantly, the light reflecting in the glossy sheen... the way the sun can reflect off his skin, especially when he's sweating.... the way he covers his eyes with one hand as he squints up at the sun in the sky and scrunches up his tiny nose before putting on the sunglasses that I like to see him in so much. Maybe it's the contented sounds he makes when he eats a particularly delicious food.... maybe the sighs he makes when he's comfortable. Or maybe it's the way he looks when he's totally relaxed and, for once, silent, and thinking. Or maybe it's just the fact that he is who he is and I am who I am and we are totally different, yet totally attracted to one another and completely helpless to protect ourselves from the inertia of life itself.

Or maybe, even, it's just that I love him. Maybe it's as simple as that. But I still don't understand it. I doubt I ever will.


End file.
